


The News

by maximum_overboner



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Male Solo, PWP, Smut, Undertail, loud, papyrus jerks it to the robot, v explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:52:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5808721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone can get a little pent up sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The News

  Papyrus was stressed.

  It was only natural, of course, given his position. He worked hard, he trained hard, all day, every day with only brief respite. He didn’t need to sleep to survive, so he did not. He did not need to work overtime, but he did. And, as enthusiastic as he was, sheer perseverance could only sustain a monster for so long before it all became a little too much. His grumbling had given way to sniping, good humor to irritation, prickling and sore, slowly, over the course of weeks. Sans, of course, picked up on it immediately, though it was very much a conversation he did not want to have.

  It wasn’t that Papyrus was stressed, on further consideration.

  It was that he was frustrated.

  The hours that he had given himself did not permit much time alone, which he did not usually mind as it meant he could spend his company with cool people like himself. There were occasions, however, when he would feel warmth pooling in his groin at wholly inopportune times, that he would regret his choices. Heat, tender and needy that he could not take care of. He had had enough. He was already doing overtime anyway, Undyne wouldn’t mind.

  “SANS! I’M GOING TO GO HOME NOW. TRY NOT TO DOZE OFF AT YOUR POST AGAIN, I WILL BE ABLE TO TELL.”

  Sans lolled his head back up at the noise, no longer able to sink into a nap, body stiff from his posture. He clicked his back, finding relief, and looked up from his seat at the post. “yeah, i’m sure you can. but i thought your shift ended at three, it’s only two..?”

  The question itself was a reasonable one, but the slight tint to Papyrus’ cheeks gave away the answer before he had even spoken. “I AM A BUSY MAN. I HAVE THINGS TO ATTEND TO.”

  Sans shuddered. “yeah, uh.” Well, this was awkward. “you go do that. i finish up here pretty soon--”

  Papyrus' face fell, just a tad, the house no longer totally empty.

  “... but i think i’m gonna go to grillby’s for a while. you, um.” This was weird, dealing tactfully with information Papyrus clearly did not intend to let slip. “... have fun, i guess? just uh, maybe put a sock on your door or something, whenever, like...” Sans shrugged, letting all pretense drop just to get it all out of the way rather than make the conversation any more awkward than it already was. “look, i don’t want to see any of that shit.”

  Papyrus had clamped his hands to his face, mortified, clearly not getting away with this, not with his dignity intact. “NOTED. THANK YOU FOR STAYING OUT OF MY WAY WHILE I...” His voice caught in his throat, a long, embarrassed vocal fry, “... TRAIN, WHILE I TRAIN!”

  Sans had been reading the same magazine page for the past minute, not processing a single word, simply waiting for the moment to pass. He wanted to dig a ditch in the ground and toss himself into it. “yeah, well, the walls are thin, so... hey, can you do me a favor?”

 Papyrus was seriously considering turning on his heels and bolting. “WHAT?”

  Sans held his chin in consideration, cheeks burning. He had to bring this up at some point, might as well get it all out now. “ya mind not ‘training’ near the window of your room? couple people from the bar were complaining about the noise, thought you were dyin’ or something--”

  “OH MY GOD.”

  “i know, i know. maybe, like move your computer--”

  Papyrus’ cheeks were flooded with color, he had to end this. “WOW, THANKS FOR TELLING ME. I HAVE TO LEAVE NOW. TO GO DO COOL SKELETON THINGS. ALONE.”

  Sans quirked his brow, waiting for him to continue.

 “NONE OF WHICH WILL BE NEAR THE WINDOW,” he mumbled.

  Sans’ features settled back into place. “cool. one more thing.”

  Oh God, what now, how could this possibly get worse.

  “if ya get any on the carpet, use cold water. warm does weird stuff to the protein--”

  “SANS!! UGH, I ALREADY KNEW THAT, JUST...” He realized what he way saying and swiftly turned around to walk home, face on fire. “I MEAN, UH, THANK YOU, FOR THIS BRAND NEW INFORMATION, WHICH I DID NOT KNOW. GOODBYE.”

  “yeah, bye.”

  Sans pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaled, and tried to push the embarrassment out of his mind. He couldn’t, but he tried.

  Once again, he attempted to read his magazine.

 

 

  Papyrus thought he was being subtle, but since it appeared half the town knew when he was masturbating he decided to draw the curtains and stick to the living room, his computer no longer an easy source of relief. He wondered if anybody could see him from the winding dirt path that cut along the back of town. He hoped not, as the idea of any random stranger seeing his O-face did not bring him comfort. On any other day this would have been enough to deter him.

  Papyrus lit some candles (he was not a savage, he required ambiance), dotted them around the room, made himself comfortable and turned on the television. Hopefully, Mettaton was hosting some show, or delivering one of those soliloquies about how great he was, all shiny and preened.

  Jackpot.

  There he was, chiseled and designed, silky black hair and pointed features, sat on the table in a measured suit that squared his shoulders. It looked expensive, gaudy purple velvet that framed him just so, long heels showing off his ass as he posed.

 Papyrus sat, jaw agape, remembering he should probably be doing something about this. Slowly, gingerly, he reached under his shorts to deal with the tenting, then ghosted along the underside of his cock with his fingertips. That alone was enough to draw out a little whine. It had been... A few months, actually. Getting into the Guard would be so worth it.

  What was Mettaton talking about? Was it news? It sounded like news. Papyrus muted the television and watched, enjoying the physicality of his elegant movements, practiced like a dancer’s.

  The light from the television and the soft orange glow from his eyes served to illuminate the dark room, flickering in the areas the candles couldn’t reach as he slowly, slowly began to pump with one hand. He scrunched up his features tightly as he felt a coiling in the pit of him, warmth spreading as he manipulated each inch. His other hand found his ribs as he leaned back into the plush surface of the couch, sighing as he lost himself in the sensation. This was always nice. Shame about the mess.

  Up, down, slower, up, down, tighter, up, down, faster.

  The low groans started now, throaty in comparison to his high, shrill voice. He couldn’t help it, he was loud in everything he did, when he would posture, when he would cook, and when he would force his brother out of the house so he could jerk off.

  He slowed, then stopped. He would need to make up for this, for the awkwardness. Maybe he should just stop altogether?

  Mettaton shifted on the desk, microphone close to his face, one long leg languidly drawn over the other. Immediately, Papyrus resumed with renewed vigor, the sight drawing a deep gasp. God almighty, those legs. Those smooth, supple curves, falsified flesh against latex, the way the light caught them, tense muscle--

  Up, down, slower, slower slower slower until there were only tantalizing spurts of feeling, so dangerously close to finishing, but not quite. Involuntary shivers ran through Papyrus, bones of his legs on fire as he clenched them, drawing out the sensation, each spasm forcing out a strained grunt. He pulled his shorts down all the way and kicked them off onto the floor, hunching over, all traces of civility leaving him. This felt good, this felt amazing, but it wasn’t quite enough. He leaned back further into the couch, legs fully off, cock bouncing as he moved until he could just barely see over it from his position. He peeled off his other glove, then brought both of his hands around himself, squeezing slightly.

  He bucked involuntarily, slickness feeding into the sensation, pre-cum dribbling.

  He imagined Mettaton’s long, wonderful legs wrapped around him.

  Papyrus imagined pawing needfully at his hair as he was sucked off, tongue expertly working the head. He would return the favor, of course, as he was very great and although he deserved to be selfish he wouldn’t be. There was a close up of Mettaton’s face now, it could have been a different show entirely, those lips, that tongue, those sharp teeth. Papyrus wanted to be scraped and bitten, _to_ scrape and bite, not enough to really hurt but just enough to know that it could. He would love that wonderful, tantalizing pain across his neck as he fucked, as he _was_ fucked. Although he was picky in his potential partners, he was not so in that regard. In general, however, he was a skeleton with very high standards.

  He was vocalizing now, deep groans and pleas tearing from his throat, the couch squeaking underneath his form as he fucked his hands. The whole town could probably hear him as each breath carried a noise, each gasp a ‘NNG’ as he thrust firmly, far too roughly, far too quickly. His hips were bucking up to meet his stationary grip, which he varied in its tightness. He imagined himself inside Mettaton, lewdly cooing praise as he was ridden, able to grab at that plush ass as much as he wanted, throbbing warmth building, building, building, over and over and over, those legs, those heels, his pants becoming shouts until finally it all came crashing in, wonderful burning as he finally found release.

  “OH GOD, _OH GOD_ , _METTA~_ ”

  His sounds tapered off into strangled notes as the sensation rushed through him, hot and sticky, over every inch as he cried out, leaving a pleasant tingling when it was over. The only sounds were his own ragged breathing as he came to. That felt better. A lot better. Immediately, he set to cleaning himself up, cursing himself for not getting some tissues beforehand. Eww, he had gotten a little on the couch! This would not do, he was a courteous skeleton that did not just cum and go.

  Warm water for protein, wasn’t it? Probably. He turned the television off and stood up, knees shaking, and set to work. He would take a shower after this.

 

 

  Grillby was never one to play into old barman clichés, but Sans looked too out of it not to. He continued drying his glass, fine squeaking showing it was already clean as he plucked up the energy to speak. “... Something the matter?”

  Sans was broken out of his trance at the bar, hazy eyes and a shot glass full of ketchup in lieu of actual alcohol. He wanted to sleep but he sure as hell didn’t want to go home. “hm, you say somethin’?”

  Grillby simply let the silence do his work for him, as it tended to do, people always rushing to fill it.

  Sans sighed. “it’s been a... an awkward day, i guess. pap’s kind of, uh... doin’ his own thing, if you catch my drift.”

  Grillby did not. “... He has a boyfriend?”

  “nah.” He drank the ketchup then reached for the bottle next to him.

  “... Girlfriend?”

  “nope.”

  Grillby sipped at his water nearby as he mulled over the possibilities.

  “it’s just he’s jerking off right now and i’m pretty sure he’s gonna stain the couch then try to deny it.”

  Grillby spat out his water, droplets hitting his ‘skin’ and evaporating.

  Sans chuckled darkly, realizing his own bluntness. “you did ask."

**Author's Note:**

> God help me everything I touch turns to sin. I hope you like it!


End file.
